


The Man Who Smelled of the Sea

by doctornemesis



Series: The Man Who Smelled of the Sea [1]
Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Engagement, F/F, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, Healing, Imprisonment, Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Romance, Serious Injuries, Suspense, betrothal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:58:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5242403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctornemesis/pseuds/doctornemesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas studied him before approaching. “Much does this remind me of the tale of Maedhros upon the precipice of Thangorodrim,” he said, voice low and tender as he studied the band of steel that held Aragorn aloft. </p><p>“Let us hope that the fate of Maedhros’ hand does not befall my own if you be Fingon,” Aragorn countered, a small hint of a smile pulling at his dry lips. He could see the concern and fear that radiated through Legolas’ mind and heart, and he felt grave anguish at being the cause for he knew what day he must have cut short.<br/>---<br/>On their way to the Woodland Realm, Aragorn and his Company are waylaid by a host of orcs who take Aragorn hostage in Dol Guldur. Desperate and injured, Elladan and Elrohir seek the assistance of the Elvenking. Betraying his father, Legolas sets off to save Aragorn himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Who Smelled of the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place between T.A. 2956 and T.A. 2957 when Aragorn left the Rangers to serve in the army of Rohan under King Thengel.
> 
> Any Sindarin used will have translations provided. 
> 
> Any and all mistakes are mine.
> 
> I do not own Lord of the Rings, or any works crafted by J.R.R. Tolkien.

  
  


The sun rose above his head, but it did not bring joyful tidings. In fact, the light of day seemed more bitter and cold to him than the night had even though spring had come, but at least now his captors were occupied elsewhere. High they had left him, in a crumbling tower that must have been great once under the care of Elves and Elven magic.

 

It was a wicked place now.

 

The gash to the side of his head had congealed, blood no longer dripping down the right side of his face to his neck, staining his already withered and wearied clothing. Once, long ago, both his arms would have been chained, but the right cuff had been destroyed by some force of will or decay. His feet were elevated high off the ground, making the strain on his already injured shoulder that much more excruciating to bear.

 

Waylaid by an orc shield to the head in the middle of the night and dragged south for miles along the rough forest floor by the collar of his cloak, bound but not gagged though they had tried. The six-pointed star clasped at his throat had held long, but eventually gave way, leaving him without cover. Halbarad had been dismounted from his horse, Elladan and Elrohir driven apart upon the Anduin by an onslaught of poisonous Orc arrows.

 

Aragorn’s desire to enter the Woodland Realm under the cover of darkness had been their downfall. The idea that that the three others of his small company were gravely injured or worse tormented his thoughts. If they were dead or hurt, it was because of their love for him and their strong will to see him off before he left and entered into Rohan as a different man.

 

He let out a tormented growl, thrusting his free hand back against the dungeon wall with a thump. Aragorn did not know how long it had been since that fell night, nor the reason he had been captured and not slaughtered on the spot. Whatever the motive, it was evil, but the orcs who had corralled him seemed to be waiting for someone or something to return.

 

A loud crash shook his thoughts, as did the gurgling sounds of Orcs hissing and shouting in their ugly blackened speech.

 

“ _Yrch!_ * _Yrch!_ *” (Orcs! Orcs!)

 

Aragorn knew those rustic and ruthless shouts to be that of the Tawarwaith, and they had come to his aid unknown and unlooked for. The song of longbows singing through the air was music much welcomed to his ears, but Aragorn, as injured as he was, wished to be down in the fight. Fitfully, he attempted to free himself, and though he knew it was useless without any tool to aid him, he kept at it.

 

“Man ceril?*” (What are you doing?)

 

Aragorn froze, his eyes turning upward to the lithe creature that had climbed his way through a broken, shifting spiral staircase without a sound. Legolas, son of King Thranduil and Prince of the Woodland Realm. He was not dressed for battle, but rather a grand celebration.

 

There were bluebells and marigolds weaved through his long white tresses with silver thread, though he smelled strongly of honeysuckle. A thin silver circlet with a simplistic yet elegant design sat above his brow, a tear shaped white gem set in the center, and he wore no armor or other protection save a bow in one hand and a short knife in the other. He wore a long silver robe with a high neck that reached down to his ankles, underneath peaked through a green tunic and leggings. And where light shoes would normally stand stood bare feet only.  

 

Aragorn knew it must have been a feat to ride hard and fast through thick brush in such garb, and he marveled at how pristine the Elf presented himself; though, that was often their custom.

 

“Legolas!” The name poured forth from his lips like a prayer.

 

Legolas studied him before approaching. “Much does this remind me of the tale of Maedhros upon the precipice of Thangorodrim,” he said, voice low and tender as he studied the band of steel that held Aragorn aloft.

 

“Let us hope that the fate of Maedhros’ hand does not befall my own if you be Fingon,” Aragorn countered, a small hint of a smile pulling at his dry lips. He could see the concern and fear that radiated through Legolas’ mind and heart, and he felt grave anguish at being the cause for he knew what day he must have cut short.

 

The day the only son and heir born to Thranduil King was conceived upon the tide of the spring equinox.

 

“Sevig thû úan,*” (“You smell like a monster.”) he said, dancing his fingers along Aragorn’s cheekbone.

 

Aragorn laughed, at least the Elf hadn’t lost his wit since their last meeting. “Charming as ever, I see.”

 

“All that is gold does not glitter, isn’t that what Mithrandir sings to you?” questioned Legolas, brow raised as he tucked a strand of dark hair behind Aragorn’s ear, studying the crudely made cuff that bound him.

 

“He does _not_ sing, and he did not invent it.”

 

“Yes, yes. You forget I met Bilbo long before you had the chance, and Mithrandir, too, in my youth. A lovely hobbit he be, as much as he has suffered. Still, it goes that though you may be foul-looking, and even more foul-smelling at the moment you are fair and fit to one day wear a crown above your head and a star above your brow.”

 

“If you could only convince your father as much, we would be better off.”

 

“Ada is burrowed deep within the wood, he cares not for what else goes on outside his realm, especially after the last battle. He will fade and blend with the forests that bore him if he does not meet a more fell end. You have a great path before you, Estel, or you would not be blessed as such. Your time will come, the Half-elven knows.”  

 

Aragorn sighed, and the agony he felt about his supposed destiny wore heavy on him though he were still young with many years yet still to come. Five years had barely passed since he learned all of who he actually was, and it tore at him. “How can I possibly ascend a throne I knew not about when I cannot even protect three in my care. Three I consider my closest kin.”

 

Legolas remained silent for a time, taking his short knife as he pierced it through the clasp of the cuff, shimming it until it at last broke free, releasing Aragorn’s arm though it was rendered useless. Aragorn leaned on him, weariness finally taking him as a beautiful and soft voice sung to him in an Elven tongue. A second Elf made her way to them, bowing low in Legolas’ presence though it made the prince uncomfortable.

 

“We’ve secured the surrounding areas, Legolas, we are free to depart in as much haste as can be mustered,” she said, speaking in the Common Speech as she was unsure whether or not Aragorn understood their native tongue. She, too, was dressed for celebration. A silk emerald gown with long, flowing bronze sleeves decorated with various green gems connected together with silver lining adorned her body. Upon her golden-brown head sat a crown of daffodil flowers, beautiful in their simplicity. The leather quiver slung over her shoulder appeared out of place.  

 

“We leave now, send forth word that we ride immediately. I sense something far fouler heading this way, and as much as I wish to stay and defend and revenge the honor of my kin slain, it is not fathomable. Send our fastest riders ahead, let the sons of Elrond know that their brother has been found wounded, but well alive and fighting even now.”

 

“Of course,” she said with a bow.

 

“And Alfirinien, since you are without a doubt the swiftest of any, you shall take Estel upon your horse, and you shall ride fast and swift and without break.”

 

“ _Legolas_ ,” Aragorn protested, but Legolas raised his hand to silence him.

 

“You are in my land, Ranger, and though you be close to my heart, you are in my Realm and under my command. I must stay behind with what’s left of my company and make sure the surrounding lands are clean of filth before my return.”

 

The dismay that ran across the bridge of Alfirinien’s freckled nose flashed and burned out in an instant, but Aragorn was quick enough to catch it for he felt the same way. Legolas was not properly fitted for such an errand, and they both knew it, and they were both afraid.

 

“Of course,” she said, bowing low once more, this time placing her right hand over her heart.

 

Legolas and Alfirinien helped the wounded man down the corroding stairway, trying not to injure him further. Once they reached the foothold, Aragorn could hear the Elves and their horses working diligently to cleanse what was left of the remaining evil. Once they cleared the fortress altogether, Aragorn could make out a great company for one made in such haste, but they, too, were not dressed appropriately for what it was they were doing. None of their hair was plaited,  and all were adorned in flowers and gems of some sort, and none wore shoes. They had come out of their love and loyalty for Legolas, their prince.

 

Legolas helped Aragorn to mount a beautiful grey steed, with hooves large, and great mane still larger. Alfirinien mounted behind him, securing him with both arms as she sung a prayer to Elbereth for speed and healing of body. “I do apologize for the lack of saddle, but even if we rode in such a manner, she would not have it.”

 

“Fear not, Elfmaiden and fierce warrior, I myself was reared in Imladris under the care of Elrond, Half-elven. I have ridden many a free beast.”

 

“I apologize,” she said in between ordering her horse to settle in such a wicked place. “I knew not.”

 

“If you knew not, then apologize not.”

 

“Gwaem!*” (Let’s go!), rang Legolas’ clear voice. He, too, had mounted a steed; and a beautiful and wild one at that. “Noro lim!* Noro lim!*” (Ride on! Ride on!)

 

Legolas took one final look in Aragorn’s direction before taking off. “Boe i 'waen*.” (I must go.)

 

Aragorn reached out a hand, hissing in pain as he did so. Alfirinien placed a hand upon his shoulder. “Let us go and believe in him. It would be dishonoring to him any other way.” And so they fled with much speed.

 

*******

Aragorn unable to keep his head up, lost consciousness soon after they had taken off. When he next awoke, he laid upon an unfamiliar bed tucked under a canopy of shimmering stars caught in an emerald net. The room he inhabited was large beyond his comprehension, pillars strewn of living earth lined all four corners around him and beyond. Torches were sprinkled about as far as the eye could see, and a loose silk garb caressed his skin from the base of his throat to the lining of his ankles; the color of which seemed to change as he moved. A weighted fur kept him warm, though he knew not until then that he had been chilled.

 

A sling made of a foreign but sturdy substance took the pressure from his injured arm and shoulder, a lavender scented wrap laid across the right side of his face. His skin was clear of dirt, debris and ache; smelling of honeysuckle and beech trees. He felt relaxed for the first time he could remember in recent years, and somewhere near and far he could hear water dripping to a song of its own merrymaking.

 

“It is good to see you awake, Estel,” came a familiar voice, and Aragorn’s heart rejoiced to hear it. And as two figures approached him, his heart swelled in his chest until he thought it might burst.

 

“Elladan! Elrohir! I am pleased to see you still among the living, my kin!”

 

Elladan smiled, and Aragorn could tell it was he for the dimple he had sat in his left cheek only. It was then that he realized the twins were dressed not only in the fashion of noble Woodland Elves, but in different fashion from one another. Elladan was clad in a silver robe with a subtle vermilion underneath while Elrohir wore opposite of that. Their hair was plaited in different patterns as well; Elladan’s with three strands braided back into a neat bun while Elrohir wore two simple braids at his temple. That, Aragorn noted, was highly unusual for the two, though he figured others could not tell them apart as easily as himself who had been raised with them and knew and loved them well.

 

“It would take more than Orc scum to fell us, dear one. We were most concerned about you and Halbarad,” Elrohir said, wiping a thumb along Aragorn’s brow. It was how he used to put a young and unruly Estel to bed what felt so long ago.

 

“Halbarad!” Aragorn shouted, trying to sit up before regretting the decision. “How is he? Is he well? How seriously was he hurt because of my selfishness?”

 

Elladan hushed him then, covering him back up as he whispered soothing words in their native tongue. “Halbarad will survive, though he was injured most out of all. Four suns and three moons have passed since our arrival here, and he has been in the best of care. I think only Ada’s touch could be of more renown.”

 

Aragorn’s thoughts settled, but only a little. “And what about you? How did you fare? Please fill me in on what I have missed to ease my troubled mind and my heart.”

 

“Very well,” said Elrohir. “You were never one to listen and take rest, but I shall have Elladan speak for I grew ill on arrival and still heal myself. Nasty arrows, those,” he said, raising his left hand to reveal a similar bandage to which was upon Aragorn’s head.

 

The twins took a seat at either end of the bed, and Elladan began his tale. “As you well know, we did not, at first, understand what had happened as Elrohir set to cross the river first. All we knew was that a horse had been felled by a single arrow, though we knew not who sat upon it. Halbarad had been thrown off, and you jumped to his aid when a host of Orcs came upon you both. When I set off to come to your side arrows rained down from the darkness, and even my eyes could not tell all directions in which they came. Elrohir had to wrestle his steed back over the river, where an arrow pierced him through. Most of the host took off with you as I am sure you know, but a few stragglers stayed behind to finish Halbarad off, the filthy beasts. That was their undoing, for we took their heads from their shoulders with our swords with glee.”

 

“ _Much_ glee,” Elrohir interrupted, clenching his uninjured fist as he did so.

 

“Yes,” Elladan said, glaring at his brother and the other half of his soul for cutting in. “We gathered Halbarad and made for Thranduil’s kingdom as rapidly as could be mustered along the Elf-path, Halbarad bleeding profusely in my arms. When we reached the forests before the caverns we saw great commotion and celebration outside and within with many lights and song, and pleading we made our way in front of Thranduil’s throne, and though he appeared off-put for the disruption, he acknowledged us as the sons of Elrond, and took Halbarad to a place of healing. When we explained our plight further, he grew more severe, unwilling to send aid to Dol Guldur where we suspected they had taken you in haste. However; much to our blessing, Legolas had come unnoticed when he heard word of our presence, and hearing your name he immediately set off with as many as were willing to leave with him against his father’s wishes. If they had delayed, Thranduil would have hindered their going in anyway necessary, so they grabbed their weapons only. Holding us responsible, he held us within his realm, refusing to let us aid Legolas in your rescue, though he was not unkind, taking care of those who needed it and letting us roam free through the caves with eyes ever present upon us, and that is our tale of things.”  

 

“And Legolas?” Aragorn asked, hopeful and urgent to see him.

 

Elladan and Elrohir looked away from him then, and Aragorn wavered for that was not their way.

 

“We were able to secure most of what you had with you when we set off from Imladris,” Elladan said, handing him his six-pointed star.

 

“What has come to pass?” Aragorn pressed, his voice raised and composure failing.

 

Elrohir looked upon him with pity. “We do not yet know.”

 

Aragorn pushed through the pain and sat with a jolt. “You do not know? How? How do you not know, how is he not here?” he shouted, voice laced with woe and confusion.

 

“We speak truth,” Elladan told him. “You arrived yesterday morning with the company that set out first, but those who remained behind have yet to make it back. A party has been sent forth in search of them.”

 

Aragorn heaved with fear and anguish, his heart choked in his throat. He tried to climb out of bed, held down by both Elladan and Elrohir. They were strong even when Aragorn was not overcome with injury, and he could not overpower them both.

 

“Even if you were well enough to seek after him, Thranduil would not permit it. His wrath is inflamed with the fear he feels for his only son and kin,” Elrohir spoke, his voice commanding and wise in his words. “And do you guess whom it is he blames?”

 

“You will hear tale soon enough, Estel, he will bring it down upon your head like the shaken earth. Do not press his anger further than it already has been. It is foolish, and we would not have you act so unwise,” Elladan added. “Rest, even if poorly, even if in body only. Rest. We bring you drink to settle you.”

 

“I want it not.”

 

Elladan glowered down at him, pulling a skin from within his robe. “And yet you shall take it because we give you no other choice, and though you may be grown in your own right, you are but a sapling still and we are in charge of your care. We could not permit you to be rash in action at this moment, not when things lie in such an unsure space.”

 

In the end they were forced to pour the bittersweet and tangy liquid down his throat.

 

Aragorn fell into the most uneasy rest of his life, if you could call it such. The nightmares that fell upon him felt all too real and too close, his heart racing and ladened with guilt. In his heart burned a fire, and it reigned upon him without mercy. At first it had no face, but then it took on many.

 

There came Isildur and his ruin, and the untimely death of a father he did not know. The shards of Narsil fell upon him, piercing his flesh, never to be reforged. The Ring of Barahir burned in his grasp, searing his hand as he fell to his knees in the darkness, never to be given to another.

 

Elrond’s eyes bore deeply into him, asking how he could be so unwise. Thranduil’s beautiful and yet terrible face flayed his flesh with a simple turn of his head and trembling of his lip. A dark figure, gathering in the mist shrouded his thoughts, and he felt then more helpless than he had ever.

 

Then there laid in the darkness some distance away a beautiful pale figure, with long hair covering his face. Aragorn felt he could not walk, and so he crawled to him, reaching for him always. When he came upon him, he noticed the bluebells and marigolds in his tresses had all withered and died away; they no longer smelled sweet but rotten. Trembling, he turned Legolas’ face towards him, cupping his chin in hand.

 

If his lungs had allowed for him to bellow and cry out, he would have for the beautiful eyes he could often see in the sky and in the lakes he passed along his travels were now lost of their light.

 

Legolas’ ethereally face was now gaunt and fast fading, dark circles crowned underneath his lids. Legolas’ hand clasped his chest as he gasped for breath, and when Aragorn moved the limb away he saw there a deep gash across his chest. A Morgul blade had made this wound, Aragorn could tell by the smell of poison and the feel of black magic under his hand.

 

Aragorn wept openly as he held him. “Legolas, _Legolas_ ,” he cried.

 

Legolas’ eyes peered up at him, though they seemed to look through him. “Aragorn,” he called, beckoning him by his true name. “No healers hands have thee for this,” he whispered with his last breath.

 

“ _No_ _true_ _King_ _are_ _you_ ,” whispered the shadows.

 

*******

Aragorn next woke to a glimmering blade caressing his throat. If he took more than a soft intake of breath, his blood would have been spilled. Thranduil towered over him, face fierce and tormented. Tears had stained a streak down his long face.

 

“My son was a fool to go after you, and he has paid gravely for it. I care not who reared you, nor what you are prophesied to become, you are but a simple man to one such as myself, and if my son dies, and my line ends then so, too, does that of Isildur’s.”

 

Thranduil, sensing Aragorn had something urgent to say by the look in his grey eyes, raised his sword just so. Aragorn was afraid to speak for he was fearful to know. In the end, his yearning outweighed his cowardice, and he steeled himself as best as he could.

 

“What has come to pass? What of Legolas, has he returned?”

 

“Yes,” Thranduil drawled with a hiss, eyes flashing like lightning as his anger surged like the rising tide. “If that matters in the end, I know not.”

 

“He is injured, then?” Aragorn asked, sitting up only to be cast back down by his injured shoulder.

 

“Gravely,” he said, eyes mournful. “Perhaps mortally.”

 

Aragorn wonder why he told him at all, if only to torture him with such news. “How?”

 

The rage that engulfed the Elvenking’s face cast a shadow around his body, making him appear larger and more severe than any myth or tale. “Nazgûl,” he sneered as he placed a hand over his heart. “The Orcs...those cursed creatures were simply waiting for their masters to return. Three of them in total. All but four of the company returned, each surrendering their life for that of their beloved prince who would eagerly give his for theirs as well. And though they sacrificed themselves, cut short in our seemingly endless stream, it did not save him from wound.”

 

“The Morgul blade!” Aragorn cried out. “Please, I beg of you, allow me to tend to him. I know much about healing for Elrond has taught me much.”

 

Thranduil turned to look at him once more, and scoffed. “I would rather have Legolas succumb to his wounds then allow for your unclean, unworthy hands to lay upon his flesh.”  

 

A moment of silence passed between them, though it felt an eternity as Aragorn tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. Finally, Thranduil turned away from his thoughts and back to Aragorn, looking down his nose at him. “I come here merely to tell you that you are now a captive under my rule, and depending upon which way fate turns its head, your end may very well come within this place. You are not permitted to leave the confines of your lodgings, and Elrond’s sons are forbidden from meeting with you. If you break my commands, you shall not be the only one to suffer the consequences. I remind you that you are not the only mortal in my keeping, and I leave you with that.”

 

A tear fell from Aragorn’s eye, the anguish in his heart too much to bear.

 

Aragorn sat with much grief, eyes peering down into his lap. A faint whisper filled the open space around him, the torches dimming as a cloaked figure appeared as if from thin air. Aragorn was taken off guard, but not alarmed. The presence did not feel evil.

 

“I’ve come to you Estel of Imladris under threat of treason, and though I love my king more than all within this realm and out, and more than my very life, I cannot abide losing one so close to my heart.” Aragorn recognized the voice as that of Alfirinien, even though a hood of bronze covered her beautiful head. In her hands was a folded cloth, and as she approached his bedside, she handed it to him. “Athelas are too suffocated to grow here now that the darkness gathers once more, but I found it in your belongings upon our return, and stored them away from view. I pray that you are skilled enough to heal a wound such as Legolas has suffered, for he grows worse and fades with every drain of daylight.”

 

“I could not have you do this,” said Aragorn, searching for the odd hazel of her eyes.

 

“I do not ask your permission, nor do I need it. I care gravely for Legolas, he has helped me with much loss, and I could not bear to lose him,” she choked, hand clenched into a fist as she held back tears. “I will not allow it.”

 

“He has fostered you.”

 

Alfirinien’s head bowed. “Many trees have grown from a mere seed since my brother lost his life defending this realm from the great spiders descended from Shelob and other dark, unspeakable things. I mourned much and often, and would have faded if not for him. Legolas had taken Belegornion’s death to heart, and with much sorrow. He took my anguish and anger and molded it into something useful, I shall not fail him now when there is still something to be done.”

 

“Very well then,” said Aragorn, marvelling at her. “I appreciate your strength and your valour and your love, but how do you aim to help me reach him as I am not only injured but we are surrounded by those faithful to Thranduil and his rule no matter what their hearts may truly feel about Legolas’ plight?”

 

Removing the hood of her cloak, Alfirinien smiled through her tears. Aragorn realized then how young she must have been in the reckoning of the elves, but understood how strong in the ways of magic she already was. “I will tell you that I know the lay of this land better than those who have dwelled in it for centuries too long to count for my father helped to craft, and with love he showed it to me, including the ways not often taken and hardly remembered except in lore. I shall be your guide.”

 

“Why do you do this?” Aragorn asked, doubt eating at him once again.

 

Alfirinien looked at him with sympathy and kindness, and the feeling of relief was intensified by the natural light glimmering across her face. “Because he believes in you. Often he has told me tales of you, and believes that something great lies before you though you know it not. And, more than anything, he wishes to see it, no matter his end in the journey.”

 

Aragorn spoke no further, and drank from a chalice Alfirinien had brought him. The taste held better on his tongue than what Elladan had forced down his throat, and the effect was much improved as well. Aragorn felt invigorated in a manner he hadn’t before, and he felt strong enough now to deal with the task that was appointed to him.

 

“Have they taken him to a place of healing like myself?” he asked, regaining the feeling in his limbs as Alfirinien guided them down a stairway hidden in darkness save a few shimmering lights that appeared to him like stars. Aragorn presumed they were unmined gems, forgotten long ago in such a vast underground system.

 

“No, Legolas is within his chambers, his father would not have it any other way. The healers have stayed with him, off and on, though I hear them weeping often. Thranduil, too, has hardly left his side, but the sons of Elrond have waged a war of words with him where you are concerned and he is occupied elsewhere. Fortune seems in our favor as well this day for the men of Esgaroth have come to collect their payment.”

 

“At such a time?”

 

Alfirinien peered over her shoulder at him, and though he could not see her clearly, he could sense a smug sensation emitting from her. “I said this day was fortunate for us, not them,” she clarified.

 

The two passed through tunnels wide and deep, and caverns narrow and suffocating with the smell of collected time and disuse. Down, down, down they went. Up, up, up they rose. Walking in what felt like circles. Aragorn was forced to stop twice along their journey, the injury to his shoulder causing him immense pain, but he waved Alfirinien’s concern off.

 

“Why not use some for yourself?” she asked, adjusting the sling that held his shoulder in its proper place.

 

“I cannot,” he said, looking grim and determined by the set of his chin. His face was still fair, no hair had yet grown there, but his features were severe enough on their own. “Legolas will need every ounce I have, and even then I fear it may not be enough.”

 

“Hush now,” Alfirinien spoke as he helped him to his feet. “For someone bestowed as hope you are surely lacking in these times. Believe in yourself as he believes in you, if only for his sake.”

 

Aragorn took heart at her words, and they carried on.

 

After what seemed an endless time they came at last to Legolas’ dwelling. Aragorn marveled at how high it sat, a balcony etched from living rock let in fresh air Aragorn longed to breathe. Curtains tussled in the wind as bundles of mint and lavender swung to and fro from hanging pots.

 

Wild sage burned along the windowsill, and as Aragorn turned his eyes upon Alfirinien who moved away he came upon a short set of stairs that led to a marvelous bed tucked into the earth and wrought with bronze and emerald bedding, pillows of similar hue lining one end to the other, but it was the body splayed across it that caught his eye. Elves did not sleep as mortals did, they did not need it, and could dream and rest even as they carried on with their day to day tasks. To see Legolas’ eyes closed and slender chest heaving for breath troubled Aragorn greatly.

 

Legolas laid in a thin, loose cloth of gold, chest exposed as sweat gathered at his temples. Aragorn found himself momentarily frozen by fear. Alfirinien, sensing this, dabbed Legolas’ brow before descending from his side.

 

“To your left is a great pool of water where he bathes, I can heat the water as needed,” she said, looking at him with a brave face though her hands shook.

 

“Work as quickly as you are able. We will bring his bath to a near intolerable heat as I crush the leaves as thoroughly as I can manage, and we shall place him in it, and pray that it is enough to coax him back from the brink for I see now how close he edges the line.”

 

“Swift we shall aid him, and I do believe it shall be enough for he has you to speak words of care and want and need into his ear. I believe if anyone were to bring him back, it is you. I only fear we shall be interrupted before our work is complete.”

 

“Then let us make haste!”

 

Alfirinien brought the bath to a near boil as Aragorn wiped at his brow, deep in his labor as he ground the plant to a near dust. Alfirinien looked at him, and though he knew it not, she approved greatly of him. “I think we are as prepared as we can be, time is not on our side,” she said, staring wearily at the fading sun dipping further from their view.

 

“Yes,” Aragorn knew and agreed, handing the athelas over to Alfirinien to pour into the bath.

 

In turn, he climbed the short five steps to Legolas’ bed, daring to look upon his somber and dreadful face. “ _Goheno_ _nin_ *,” (Sorry) he whispered, ducking low as he placed a kiss to Legolas’ forehead, undressing him with a gentle hand as he tried not to linger on the laceration across the center of his chest.

 

“We have not the time to apologize to those who cannot hear us, I fear. I feel and hear much commotion going on below, we must move now,” Alfirinien interrupted. “There will be time for that later.”  

 

Aragorn knew she was right, but it was still a bitter feeling. Legolas laid formless and weightless in between them, lighter even than he was naturally. The searing heat coming from his body burned Aragorn’s side, but he carried him with the utmost care through it. The water was a crystalized blue, steam rising in swirls as they carried a soothing, healing scent. Aragorn held his breath as he laid Legolas’ body into the bath.

 

Aragorn stepped back, undoing the ties of his own tunic. “I suggest, elfmaiden, if you do not wish to witness my indecency to avert your eyes and take care elsewhere,” he said, tossing the garment aside.

 

Alfirinien let out what sounded to be a low chuckle. “Even if I were one to be captivated by the male form, I would not feel indecent or embarrassed for we do not look upon each other with lust of body alone. Attraction begins with a sweet face and meeting of minds. I am betrothed to one I hold most dear, and my heart resides to her alone, but I will step outside these chambers because I fear our time grows even more dire and I am proven a distraction to you. I leave you with these words, Estel, though I know that be not your true name: Heal him with the skilled hands you were born to possess.”

 

Aragorn watched as she disappeared from sight before turning his attention back to the task at hand. With a sigh, he climbed into the pool of water, and though it burned him near raw, he tolerated it by sheer will. Legolas’ body floated upon the water, his hair flowing beneath his head like a crown. Aragorn placed a hand upon his shoulder, lips trembling as he stroked his face.

 

“Legolas, I call upon thee,” he spoke, his voice breaking as waves upon jagged rocks. “I call upon thee back to this world by my side...for I need you.”

 

“I could not carry forward without the sound of your voice or the brush of your touch. I am selfish in my desire to have you always within reach,” he said, tears filling his eyes.

 

“ _Gi_ _melin_ * (I love you). I love you, come back,” he whispered. “Echuio* (Wake up), Legolas. An ngell nîn* (Please).” Aragorn held him in his arms even as the water began to cool, refusing what he most feared. He laid his forehead upon Legolas’, kissing his brow. “I will be all that you believe me to be. I swear it now to you.”

 

Long moments passed, but finally. “Iston i nîf gîn* (I know your face). And I know your voice. _Estel_.”

 

Aragorn looked down upon Legolas in amazement and wonder, traversing the contours of his face in disbelief. “Legolas! _Legolas_ ,” he cried, joy overtaking him. Legolas’ eyes were clear, but also troubled. Aragorn pressed him closer. “What troubles you? Tell me, I shall do my best to free you of it.”

 

Legolas smiled weakly at him. “I am afraid there is no cure for this ailment, Aragorn,” he said, breath ghosting across the man’s lips.

 

“Tell me still. Tell me please.”

 

“I have heard athelas bring an individual scent to those who smell it. I have never had reason nor care to seek it out, but my heart is stirred by the aroma which has roused me.”

 

“What is it?” Aragorn pressed.

 

Legolas closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “The purest salt carried over from the sea.”

 

Aragorn’s chest tightened for he knew what Legolas meant, and it made him afraid now that the dreaded sea-longing had been stirred within him. Once the Unquiet of Ulmo surfaced it never erased itself from an Elven heart, but only grew. Legolas smiled weakly up at him.

 

“Fear not,” he said, lips near the skin of Aragorn’s throat. “I will remain within the confines of Arda as long as there is one who walks among it still. Until then, fret not.”

 

“You mean I?” Aragorn asked, bewildered that Legolas would strengthen his heart and dissuade his yearning for the sea for one such as himself.

 

“I do.”

 

“Why?”

 

Legolas sighed, eyes lowering as he studied his own nudity for the first time. “You ask far too many questions, and most unnecessarily. You complicate the most simplest of things, and I am too weary to care for it.”

 

Aragorn took the hint, raising Legolas from the bath and setting him upright along the gold plated edge. Aragorn worked to dry him off in as gentle a manner as could be made, though he knew his chances of being caught grew with each passing moment. Aragorn cared not, for Legolas looked upon him with clear and thoughtful eyes, face shimmering even in the low light.

 

The nightmare had passed, and he had seen it through.

 

“I must admit my heart is more joyous than it has ever been,” said Legolas suddenly as Aragorn helped to redress him, though he refused to clasp the front of his robe, leaving his chest and upper torso lightly exposed.

 

“And why is that, Woodland prince?”

 

Legolas grinned. “For I know you meant every word you said for I would not have crossed back over if what you had spoken had been untrue.”

 

Aragorn grasped Legolas’ chin in his hand, tilting his head to look up at him. “I have loved you since the day you first rode into Imladris, singing and laughing the entire way. You stood out from all who rode with you, as fair and as beautiful as they may be, your smile reaching through even the most unsettled places within my heart for you came during a turbulent time for me.”

 

Legolas’ eyes fluttered shut, a smile curving at either end of his lips. “Your voice and words settle me. There is only one thing I would ask of you.”

 

“I already know for I want the same,” Aragorn whispered, ducking low so that their lips were mere centimeters apart, but the kiss which should have been their first never came to fruition for Thranduil stormed in, his face enraged though his eyes wore relief. His son was alive.

 

“You have disobeyed my every order, and still linger here to taunt me,” he spoke, guards filling the room, arrows drawn.

 

“Ada,” Legolas tried but was silenced with one look.

 

“Nin gwerianneg* (You betrayed me).”

 

“How?” Legolas asked, face stricken with the accusation.

 

“Silence, Legolas. When the time comes, I will call upon you to speak, but that time is not now. I deal with this... _Ranger_ only.”

 

“I accept whatever fate you have in store for me, but I tell you now as I kneel before your son that I am not sorry, and I never shall be; whether in this life or in the Halls of Mandos in which Námo and Vairë await me,” Aragorn spoke, clasping Legolas’ hands in his own. “For your son lives, and that is all that matters to me...now and for as long as Middle-earth still stands.”

 

“I tell you stand now, for if you refuse I will have my servants deal with you. I send you now to the innermost dungeon I possess, and there you shall await until I send word, if ever that day comes.”

 

Aragorn stood without protest, but Legolas still held onto him. “I would not have you go,” he said, eyes pleading.

 

The emotion in the room sympathized with the prince, but there was naught that anyone could do. “Legolas, please. Do not make this any harder than it is already, get well and be merry,” Aragorn said as he kissed Legolas’ hands. “Watch over those who need it now.”

 

Aragorn was guided down to the dungeons below, the sound of his feet echoing the only noise as those who led and those who followed did so with somber faces. As they descended the second platform, Aragorn noticed a cluster of glimmering butterflies, so captivating to the eye they were that he was forced to stop. They danced in a circle of scarlet and gold, silver and green; their bodies large and wings fluttering trinkets of dust.

 

“Estel, Estel, Estel,” came a sweet voice. “We were not quick enough, I fear, but worry not about me for I am able to entertain myself with ease.”

 

“Alfirinien!”

 

“So it is I,” she said, reaching a slender hand through one of the bars, a single lilac monarch resting upon her upturned wrist. More than anything, he wished he could see her face. “Your injured kin is not too far, he slumbers now but he is in my care though he knows it not. Do not fear for him for I am here, go now before further wrath follows, and be merry for Legolas is returned to us.”

 

Butterflies followed them to the furthest dungeon, and even after Aragorn was locked in, they remained not far from sight, dancing still near the light of the torch. Aragorn sat against the hard floor, back pressed against the wall as he bent his knees up. The pain in his shoulder had gone, healed by the same waters he had placed Legolas in. Alone he sat with no sound of any living thing, but the light kept him at peace. And as he rested his head back upon the living stone, he smiled in contentment for he had done good.

 

*******

Aragorn slept and then woke, slept and then woke, slept and then woke again. What day it was he could not tell, for there was no marker for such a thing. Runes, Dwarvish in appearance, were scratched into the wall adjacent from him though he knew not what they told. Aragorn studied them long and hard, curious and taken by them though his understanding of them did not grow better the longer he stared, but stare he did. Staring until his eyes bleared and the butterflies entered his cell, flying above his head as if to distract him.

 

“I have brought you drink and bread, and tidings I think you’ll find most interesting.”

 

Aragorn jumped at a familiar and much loved voice. “Legolas!”

 

“Yes,” he said, standing before the bars that separated them, plate in one hand and a mug in the  other. “I have brought you the finest mead we have to offer for I know the taste of wine does not fare as well on thy tongue.”

 

Aragorn stood before him, caring not for food or drink, but the face that peered into his own. “How are you here? How do you fare?” he asked in disbelief.

 

“I fare better now that my eyes behold you. I could hear your singing, and it lightened my heart.”

 

Aragorn grinned as he stood before him. “Not as beautiful as yours, no doubt,” he said, wrapping his fingers around the magical steel of the bars.

 

“Beautiful enough to ease my heart,” Legolas whispered, brushing the tips of his fingers over Aragorn’s hands.

 

“Your wound, how does it heal?”

 

Legolas’ brows furrowed slightly. “It heals, but slowly where one of my kind is concerned. I think it would heal faster if I had what I wanted to ease my worries and aches.”

 

“Your father…”

 

“Is furious beyond renown, which is the reason I am here before you.”  

 

“Your father being furious does not sound like tidings that bode well in my favor, Legolas.”

 

Legolas laughed then, the sound easing Aragorn’s mind a thousand times over. “The reason he is furious is why I am here. It appears Elladan and Elrohir are not only very persuasive, but secretive and stealth as well. They have taken off to where their father dwells with the promise of returning with his aid.”

 

It was Aragorn’s turn to frown. “Elrond will not be pleased with me, I fear. For I was not truthful about my intended course, though he probably knew that well before I set out.”

 

“I think your dishonesty will be the least of his concern. The confinement of his sons and foster son will not sit well with him, and if there is one who could reason with Ada, it could only be the wisest among our kind.”

 

“I fear he shall bring Glorfindel, leaving Erestor in his stead.”

 

“Why do you believe that?”

 

“Because Glorfindel is wise also, and feared for his prominence though it is bearable because of his kind and beautiful face only. Elrond would use him as a weapon of logic none could turn down, and my fear lies also that Elrond shall send his probing mind towards me after all is said and done, however that fairs.”

 

“If Glorfindel be any help towards your plight than I would welcome him gladly. You're a stubborn man, as oft your kind can be, he shall get no further than Elrond himself did if he arrives.”

 

Aragorn sighed, placing his forehead against the bars. “He shall, and I shall never hear the end of it,” he said with a smile.

 

“Tell me, Estel, for I fear calling you anything else, where your path leads once you are free from this place? Halbarad who is, as you know, in Alfirinien’s care, mumbles often in his sleep. Upon the things mentioned is that of the Horse Lords far away in the south.”

 

Aragorn could not gauge the emotion in Legolas’ tone nor in the still setting of his face. He reached his hand through the opening of his cell, but Legolas did not move to meet him, but merely stared at him in waiting. “It is true,” he said at last. “That is where I shall soon journey to serve under the Mark.”

 

“You intend to travel further south, to that of Gondor?”

 

“If the Steward Ecthelion would have me.”

 

Legolas seemed to him then pained at his news. “I see,” he said, his voice sounding far away.

 

“It is why I came, to tell you. I wanted to share this with you under different circumstances for I knew the time of your celebration drew near, but that was not our fate.”

 

Legolas nodded as though he understood, but said nothing. He set Aragorn’s food and drink into the open slot, but did not look at him. “I see now. You shall travel south to prove yourself and toil in the wars of men against the growing darkness until you feel you have accomplished what you have set out to do.” Legolas turned then, saying and hearing nothing further, and the monarchs that had kept Aragorn company for so long disappeared in a circle of radiating light behind him.

 

Aragorn felt his heart break in the ensuing darkness.

 

*******

Aragorn found himself trapped in a twilight sleep, and though his body begged for rest, his mind raced beneath closed lids. A weight had settled on him like none before, and he found many questions laid before him in which he had no answer. Drained, he did not at first hear the voice that beckoned him to rise.

 

“Estel, I have traveled in haste to be here now by your side, the least you could do is rouse when I command it,” came Elrond’s stern voice. Aragorn rose at once.

 

“Forgive me! I have been lost,” he said, moving to his weary feet.

 

“I would think so, breaking your promise to me. From what Elladan and Elrohir have disclosed it would appear you have suffered much, in mind, body and soul.”

 

“Will you pardon me for disobeying you?”

 

“I shall, as I always have, for I know you meant well.”

 

“Will you tell my mother?”

 

“Your mother needs no more ill news, as you know.”

 

Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief at that, though the feeling was fleeting. “Have you brought Glorfindel with you?” he asked.

 

“You know I have, he is with Thranduil as we speak for that was his main concern.”

 

“But not yours.”

 

Elrond’s face softened at his words. “No, and how could it? Knowing you laid caged beneath the earth. I have reared you, Estel, and I shall always count you among my many concerns...even if I worry myself ragged in the process.”

 

“Thranduil has pardoned me, then?”

 

“I would not go so far as to say that, but I persuaded him to allow you to roam free as we discussed this matter behind closed doors. I fear there is more to his disliking of you than he confesses, and I wish to fully understand him and his ways of thinking.”

 

“I am free to spend my time with Legolas?” he asked, hopeful.

 

Elrond looked upon him with sympathy then as he unlocked his cell. “If the Prince of the Woodland Realm would have you,” he said.

 

“You sense he has not the desire to see me.”

 

“I have the sense that his heart is wounded as I suspected it might be if you came here. Legolas, in many ways, is a free spirit, but like the children of Celebrían, _my_ children, he has suffered a loss that none can mend. In you, he grew curious, and unknown even to himself, attached. Legolas was young, younger than even Arwen when his mother sailed to the Undying Lands, and it wounded him much though he shows it not.”

 

“He feels I abandon him.”

 

“That, I know not.”

 

“I have one last question before I walk out of here.”

 

“You may ask it.”

 

Aragorn pointed to the runes that had occupied his thoughts. “What does it read?” he asked.

 

Elrond looked to where his foster son pointed, a small, heartbreaking smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It says: ‘I shall not break under you, Elvenking.’ Left by Thorin II, son of Thráin II. King of Durin’s Folk...at least, for a time.”

 

*******

Aragorn walked aimlessly about after Elrond left his side. No one seemed to know where Legolas had gone, and even if they had, they didn’t seem inclined to tell him. Wounded he found himself wandering high along old, strong bridges carved in an array of different patterns, each beautiful and unique.

 

Along the way he found himself drawn by what appeared to be a clashing of beautiful voices, but as he approached the sound he grew as weary as enticed. Before he knew it he had stumbled upon the precipice of the Elvenking’s Halls. Aragorn nearly stumbled down the smooth edge before catching himself upon an extending branch. He dropped to his belly, fearful that he had been heard, but if he had, the three elves below paid him no heed. And so, against his better judgement, Aragorn listened in.       

 

Thranduil sat upon his grand throne as Elrond and Glorfindel took seats before him, grand in their own right as those of guests of honor. Thranduil did not look upon them as guests though, and why should he? What should have been a week of feasting, singing, dancing and celebrating the coming of spring and the conception of his son and only heir had turned into a dreadful ordeal.

 

“I tell you now, Elvenking, that whatever your temperament may be concerning Estel, it shall not keep him from reaching his path. We could not allow for such a thing to come for his journey will be the last hope of his people and this earth,” spoke Glorfindel, long hair flowing down his back like a river of gold.

 

“Elessar he shall be bestowed, isn’t that what you say?” Thranduil spoke, his tone mocking.

 

Glorfindel sat up in his seat, ready to come at the Elvenking like none had ever dared to before, but Elrond silenced him with a mere raise of his hand. “It is,” he said, voice calm, so calm that it was unnerving. He wore a robe wrought of crimson velvet, contrasting the pale of his skin, the dark of his hair and the grey of his eyes. “I know you find this difficult to tolerate, the idea that soon our time will draw to an end, but this I have seen and this I know though I doubt this is what stirs your heart so.”

 

Thranduil’s jaw clenched before releasing with a mournful sigh. He placed a hand loosely over his eyes as he softly sang to himself. “ _Oreth_ , _Oreth_ , _Oreth_. My sunlight, my beloved. How I wish you dwelled still in the Wood with me”

 

Elrond and Glorfindel bowed their heads out of respect. Aragorn knew then that the woman he cried out for must have been Legolas’ mother. A forlorn feeling fell upon him at the sight of Thranduil’s pain who often looked unmoved, but now wept.

 

“Oreth, my love, how I remember thee as though I first laid eyes upon you just yesterday. I betrayed my father’s advice for the longing of my heart. Oreth was brave, fierce and wild. She had the power of foresight, though she kept her visions mostly to herself...including her ultimate fate which she told me not of though it mourned my heart greatly,” his voice faded, eyes seeing through to the past before he found himself once more. “Legolas’ birth was not easy, not as it should have been for it is not customary for our kind to have such complications as you well know. She toiled for long hours in labour, and I never once left her side, holding her hand and wiping her brow as she gave me a gift none could compare, but upon the tide of Legolas’ birth during the winter months came a vision. She foresaw something...someone.”

 

“Estel,” Elrond said, crossing his arms as his brow furrowed. The cogs in his brain churning.

 

“A line thought lost shall emerge upon the wings of one who rose from the sea, and he shall sway the mind of the young Greenleaf, and his heart shall remain in the woods that bore him no more,” said Thranduil, repeating the prophecy word for word as he rubbed at his temples. “Greatly did I fear the realms of man, and would not take Legolas there should it be helped, and so I isolated him as I felt I should. Little did I know the herald of men would be fostered in Imladris of all places amongst the elves.”

 

“You fear his leaving.”

 

“I fear his death, but most of all I fear his unhappiness. An elf and a mortal with the rare exception ends in old age for one and unmendable heartbreak for the other. He may have long life for one of his lineage, but that is still but a drop in the vast sea where we are concerned. Legolas would be destined to follow a man who will, even in all his valour, wither and pass on. And it shall break his heart, and he shall die of grief.”  

 

“You do not know this, Thranduil,” argued Elrond.

 

“Why, then, half-elven, have you also tried to steer him from this direction?”

 

Elrond sighed. “Not all that is seen is destined to pass.”

 

Aragorn looked on in disbelief, and what followed after during the rest of the council he cared not for he had only one thought on his mind, and he set off.

 

*******

Aragorn set out to find Legolas, and though it seemed a hopeless venture he followed his heart instead of his wits, refusing to track Legolas down like a wolf or an orc. Through great halls he traveled, and though he dressed as the elves did he stood out amongst them as he always had. The rich dark brown of his hair curled against his shoulders, his hair falling into his face though he tried to restrain the unruly mess. Long had he been across the borders of Bree and the Shire, keeping his promise to Gandalf as the Chief of the Dúnedain to keep the Hobbit folk safe, though they knew it not. His skin was sun kissed, and even though he had been bathed in the healing of waters blessed by the elves, he still wore a heaviness about him in his eyes that aged him even though he was otherwise youthful.

 

“You’re going the wrong way, if you wish to find the one you seek,” came Alfirinien’s voice from behind him.

 

Aragorn turned to greet her, and smiled. “You are free,” he said, meeting her halfway across a long, winding bridge.

 

“Yes, would it grieve you to know that Halbarad and I were the first to be pardoned from our cells?”

 

“No,” said Aragorn. “That eases my heart greatly, for my thoughts often turned towards you both.”

 

“Halbarad was pardoned for he was simply a mortal in the wrong place at the wrong time. I, on the other hand, was pardoned for I followed my heart and in doing so, helped to keep Legolas alive.”

 

“That is great news to me.”

 

“And yet, you are sad,” she said, the train of her copper colored dress twirling behind her as she turned away from him.

 

Aragorn took that as his cue to follow her. “I have...upset him, and I wish to make amends.”

 

“I feel what you plan to tell him won’t mend things, but fracture it further. I’d advise you don’t go the route you plan, for you will only push him further.”

 

“If you truly see my mind,” Aragorn said as he followed her down a grand staircase shaded by large oak trees that wound around it, vines crossing to and fro. “Which I have no doubt of, you will understand why I must do it. It is the only way to protect him.”

 

Alfirinien sighed as she led him, arms crossed loosely behind her back. “I see now you won’t listen to reason. You shall learn soon enough what Legolas is truly made of,” she said. “He is not as fragile as you make him out to be.”

 

Aragorn didn’t understand her. Legolas was a strong and  brilliant fighter, renowned for his skill with any bow you laid in his hands. He said nothing; however, and followed her  in a direction he had never been before. “We head east?”

 

“Yes,” answered Alfirinien, and she said no more.

 

Aragorn noted that they approached another entrance to the Elvenking’s halls, smaller, less used and more highly guarded. Three of the guards who dwelt in front of the high gate slammed their spears down into the dirt in unison at their approach. The one in the middle, whose hair burned like the sun riding straight into the dawn, crossed his free hand over his heart as he bowed.

“Ai!* (Hail!)” he shouted, and the two other elves bowed in their presence.

 

Alfirinien smiled as she placed her hand over her heart. “Le fael.* (Thank you),” she said motioning for them to rise with both of her hands. “I have brought a guest here, he’s to come back at his will, and you shall let him.”

 

“But…”

 

“If he has any complaints he can come and find me. Worry not about your own skins,” she said, looking towards Aragorn. “We part ways for now, I fear.”

 

“Hopefully not as long as our last parting.”

 

Aragorn exited the palace gates, the soft breeze that caressed his skin carried a heavenly scent of natural earth. Before him stood a narrow path and he followed it, enjoying the sight of large beech trees and wildflowers blooming freely as they wished. This side had not been corrupted and Aragorn could see now why Mirkwood had been called Eryn Galen, Greenwood the Great.

 

The forest rose and crashed like tidal waves, swirling in an array of colors and smells. Upon a large hill sat a small pavilion crafted from the most beautiful ashwood he had ever come across, covered by a canopy of golden flowers. Lady’s bedstraw, he knew them, though he hadn’t much experience with them. They were beautiful and sweet-smelling, especially bound together as they were.

 

“They were my mother’s favorite,” came a soft voice from within.

 

Inside the pavilion sat many pillows as well as a bench, and upon the bench sat Legolas looking over the edge of the hill and down the Anduin where it flowed to Esgaroth. Aragorn approached with caution, unsure whether he was welcomed or not. “They’re beautiful,” he said, leaning upon one side of the entrance.

 

Legolas turned back to look at him, his eyes studying him. “I come here when I wish to remember her fully, all I need is to smell them, and all my memories come flooding back to me. I only wish there were more of them for me to remember,” he said, patting the space beside him. “I sense your heart is troubled, come and sit for a while.”

 

Aragorn did as told, and though the smell around them was consuming, he could still find traces of honeysuckle and beech wood that were unique to Legolas alone. “I’ve heard that your mother was a very passionate woman, that she loved you and your father more than anything...and also that she was prophetic in certain ways.”

 

Legolas looked at him, and his heart leapt. “Yes, she was.”

 

“Your mother prophesied about our meeting during the time of your birth,” he said, a weight falling upon his shoulders.

 

Legolas studied his face, the intense color of his eyes setting Aragorn’s cheeks ablaze. “She did, though I knew it not until the night before...the night before I lost her. She sat me down on her bed as she often did, singing to me as she brushed my hair. Before braiding it she told me the prophecy she had upon my birth, and how poorly my father had received it. However, she told me the choice was mine and mine alone and if the vision  were to come to fruition I, and I alone would have to decide.”

 

“My mother, like your father, believes that elves and mortals should never intermingle for mortals are unworthy of such grace,” Aragorn said with a sigh, looking away from Legolas and towards the river. “What could I offer one such as yourself but toil and heartache, Legolas?”  

 

Legolas turned towards him then, bringing Aragorn’s face to meet him. “You assume you know my heart,” he said, a seriousness about him that Aragorn had never seen before. “You do not. You assume I have not laboured under the woes of this world. You forget that, in my eyes, you would be a mere child if not for the maturity and greatness you bring. I have faced death, I have toiled in war...you were a mere child when the Battle of the Five armies took place, but I...I was already a soldier. Yes, I have not let my heart be grieved and hardened as my father has, but that is a choice I choose daily, Estel. I choose to look towards hope, and I see him before me now. I would have you as long as I may, then have you never. Would you send me away?”

 

Aragorn felt his breath quicken, pulse racing as the choice was laid in his hands. Aragorn gripped Legolas’ wrists in his hands, pulling him near until their faces nearly met. He gripped Legolas’ chin as he kissed beautiful soft lips he had so often dreamt about. “I would have you. I would have you for however long I can. Will you forgive and abide my selfishness?” he asked, Legolas’ tongue tracing his bottom lip. He had his answer.

 

“I pledge to remain by your side when the time comes, and as for the Mark...I have given some thought as to a name for you while you serve in the armies of men.”

 

“What would you have me named?”

 

“I feel Thorongil is fitting.”

 

“Eagle of the Star?”

 

“Yes, it came to me in a dream as I walked through the long paths. Killing an Orc or two in the process,” he said with a smile.

 

Aragorn clasped Legolas’ hand in his, his fear dying away. “I thought you would never want to see me again,” he said as Legolas rested his head upon his shoulder.

 

“And for a brief moment I didn’t, but it passed and I thought more in depth about what my mother told me.”

 

Aragorn threaded his fingers through Legolas’ hair, and they sat there until the sun set around them and the stars came out to greet them.

 

*******

The last night of Aragorn’s stay was spent in Legolas’ chambers. Thranduil confronted them at the top of the staircase, and they stood ready to meet him. Elrond came from behind him, standing next to him with his arms tucked behind his back and a bemused smile to his face.

 

Thranduil descended, placing a hand on either side of their shoulders. “Legolas, my beloveded son, I have done what I have out of love and the pain your mother’s falling has caused me. I see now that that was not the way for you. I wish you, my child, only happiness,” he said, placing a kiss upon Legolas’ head.

 

Next, he turned his attention towards Aragorn and his eyes bore deeply into him. “Dúnedain, I expect great things from you. For I know a day soon comes that you will take my son, and he shall be yours forever,” he said, pulling out a ring formed in the shape of entwined trees, gems of white and green embedded in the form of leaves. “This ring was wrought for my mother by the Dwarves under the Misty Mountains centuries upon centuries ago, I give it to you now as a token of good faith and that you shall return this token of betrothal, and accept the one that shall be placed upon your index finger .”

 

Aragorn accepted it in awe, Legolas placing it on the ring finger of his left hand. Aragorn bowed low. “Thank you,” he said. “I am honored beyond what I deserve to be joined to the House of Thranduil and the late King Oropher.”

 

Elrond stepped down next, looking upon Legolas and Aragorn with bright, knowing eyes. “I have not a ring to give, I am afraid, but under the circumstances I hope you may forgive me. The joining of two houses is normally a grand event, and I am sure it will be one day. I have carried this with me for most of my life...it is a necklace wrought in the image of a free flying swan with a jewel in the center of its chest. It is an item of my house, in likeness of my mother, Elwing. I part with it now so that you may wear it until the day comes, no matter how near or how far that may be. Wear it well, Woodland prince,” he said, placing the silver chain around Legolas’ neck.

 

“I am truly blessed by the House of Elrond,” said Legolas, his hand over his heart.

 

Each bowed and then parted ways. Aragorn studying the ring on his finger as Legolas clasped the necklace tucked under his tunic. “I was not expecting such tidings,” Legolas breathed, mouth nearly agape as the two continued along their path.

 

“Neither was I,” admitted Aragorn. “Though it was you who claimed Elrond wisest and most persuasive. Your father has seen reason,” he said as the chamber doors opened before them, tucking them safely away as they sealed shut. “And I feel blessed.”

 

Legolas smiled then, a radiant smile full of beautiful teeth. A rare sight for any elf to look anything but demure. “As do I,” he said, taking Aragorn’s hand into his as he led him to his bed.

 

“You think they would be more wise about us sharing your chamber.”

 

Legolas quirked an eyebrow in his wake. “I have just forgiven you, what makes you think I would have you in my bed?” he asked, tone playful.

 

“You lead me there even now,” countered Aragorn, and in his youthful fervor, he untied the laces of his tunic before tossing the raiment up over his head.

 

“Are you feverish?” inquired Legolas as he walked backwards towards his bed, Aragorn following him like a predator who had cornered his prey at last. “Your skin is warm,” he said, smoothing a hand down Aragorn’s chest.

 

“Searing,” Aragorn drawled, climbing atop Legolas who looked upon him with a look of adoration and wild lust.

 

“Whatever shall we do? Maybe I should call for-” Aragorn shoved Legolas down, surprised by the reversal the elf pulled on him in an instant. The hunter had become the hunted. “You’re quick, Dúnedain, but not quick enough where I am concerned,” he teased, breath ghosting the shell of Aragorn’s ear.

 

Aragorn shivered beneath him. “I see,” he mused, breath uneven as his heart raced excitedly. “What would you have me do, now that I’m under your control?”

 

Legolas’ eyes lit at the word ‘control’, and Aragorn felt his stomach tremble at the icy color of his eyes as they studied him in depth, hands smoothing along his sides. Aragorn could barely stand the touch, his yearning riding high. “I would have you kiss me everywhere your lips so desired,” he sighed against his ear, and Aragorn could stand no more.

 

“We have until the morn,” Aragorn panted, “and I will ride weary and without rest to make this night the most memorable until we are united again,” he said, bringing Legolas down for a gentle kiss, taking the opportunity to flip him over.

 

Legolas let out a small cry as Aragorn wrenched his clothes from his body, kissing him once more upon the lips as his hands trailed up Legolas’ thighs. His mouth tasted of berries and fine wine, and Aragon tried to memorize how it felt and tasted against his tongue in every way. Aragorn worked his way along Legolas’ jaw, trailing his lips down Legolas’ throat, enjoying as the elf squirmed helplessly beneath him, pressing their groins closer together.

 

“No teasing,” he moaned as Aragorn’s tongue traced his adam’s apple, his fingers digging into Aragorn’s back.  

 

“Would you have me stop, then? asked Aragorn, raising his head just so that his eyes were leveled with Legolas’.

 

“No!” Legolas cried out, fingers toiling in Aragorn’s hair as he brought him down for a frenzied kiss.

 

Aragorn had to close his eyes momentarily, trying to keep things slow and simmering until he had Legolas well over the edge. Legolas’ fingers were tracing the outlines of his face, grazing along his cheekbones as he continued to kiss him gently on the lips. Aragorn reopened his eyes, intent on continuing his work. Intertwining their fingers, he placed Legolas’ hands above his head, attacking his neck and collarbone with eagerness.

 

Legolas moaned his name and all the stars under the night sky, hips writhing as Aragorn moved lower, kissing a path down his long torso, biting each hip. “I have never felt this wonderful,” he said as he pulled Aragorn up, deft fingers working diligently to undo the laces of his trousers looking up at him the entire time he did so.

 

“We don’t-”

 

“And we won’t,” laughed Legolas. “But I want you on an even playing field. It is only fair.”

 

Aragorn conceded, shifting his way out of his pants. The idea that this was the first time he had laid eyes upon another naked form while he himself was nude was a bit unnerving, but the way Legolas rested on his elbows with nothing but devotion in his eyes shed any doubt that this was the right thing. “I can do even,” he said. “Though, it does not come natural to me.”

 

“Me neither,” Legolas teased, sitting in Aragorn’s lap so that their hips were angled in a position that would bring them together for an intense and pleasurable sensation as he began to rock himself up and down.

 

Aragorn continued to place hot kisses along Legolas’ skin, every piece of flesh he could reach executed with a nip of teeth as his stomach tensed and it grew harder for him to form a coherent thought. Honeysuckle. Beechwood. Pale skin illuminated by the stars.

 

A glance of lustfilled eyes; glimpses of tender words split between two languages. The feel of him, Aragorn would do anything and everything to make sure Legolas was enthralled with as much passion and pleasure as capable. He took them both in hand, stroking them together as the heat in his belly only pooled lower.

 

“I can’t, I can’t take much more of this,” Legolas cried. “It is too, too much. Too much pleasure for me to handle much longer.”

 

“Then unravel,” Aragorn breathed, gripping Legolas by the hair. “Unravel completely for me, and I’ll follow.”

 

Legolas could hardly acknowledge him with a nod of his head before his back arched, and his entire body trembled down around him. Aragorn kept his promise, coming with a drawn out cry he had done his best to hold in. The two collapsed atop the bed in a tangle of limbs, too weary to draw a bath for the moment.

 

“This separation will be the longest of my life,” Legolas murmured, lips against Aragorn’s collarbone. “And that, as we know, is a long time.”

 

“A testament to a willpower I am not sure I posses,” Aragorn lamented. “If I were to derelict from my duties as a soldier, the consequences would be grave...that said, I don’t know how long I will be able to stay away from the north, and the Elvenking’s greatest treasure.”

 

Legolas smiled, grabbing Aragorn’s chin as he placed a soft kiss to his lips. “Then make sure you come back to me from your long hardships in the realms of men,” he said, speaking with care but also languidly in his contentment.

 

Placing a hand over the necklace around Legolas’ neck, Aragorn peered deep into unyielding and knowing eyes. “I shall, for this is but a first step in a series of winding stairs. There shall be a ring upon your index finger, and a Kingdom for us to rule together. I see that now.”

 

“And so it shall be,” said Legolas, eyes loosely closed as he took Aragorn’s left hand into his own, toying with the ring upon his finger. “Until then, however, let us rest. I have never been this drained before, and you have many long days ahead of you.”

 

And so they slept.

 

*******

The sun began its climb over the western sky when Aragorn, Halbarad, Elladan and Elrohir finished saddling the horses gifted to them from Thranduil as a sign of longstanding peace. Aragorn was disheartened that Legolas would not see him off, but he understood. Aragorn, sheathing a short knife along his ankle looked up just in time to see a familiar and unfamiliar face.

 

“Estel, I present to you Maiwen, my beloveded,” said Alfirinien as she bowed and a tall, slender elf with hair as black as a moonless sky curtseyed.

 

Alfirinien was dressed in her captains reignment, a coppery mail over a similarly colored long sleeved tunic and leggings, long hair plaited in two strands down her back. Maiwen, on the other hand, wore a murky green gown long and flowing as tall as she was, hair wavy and free flowing down the length of her breasts. The two were strikingly different, but it only took a faint glance to see how in tune with each other they were.

 

“A pleasure to meet you,” Aragorn greeted, bowing as did the rest of his company.

 

“So it is you Alfirinien has been getting into mischief and trouble with,” Maiwen spoke, a smile painted across rosey lips.

 

Aragorn grew flushed. “It was I, yes,” he said apologetically.

 

“Then you are also the one who risked everything to save our prince,” she said, inspecting the horses that they were to take. “For that, you have my utmost gratitude.”

 

The horses seemed to gather around her then, and as she whispered too low for any to hear, they neighed and raised their heads and stomped their hooves as if cheering her. Alfirinien laughed. “What did you tell them?” she inquired.

 

“Only to ride swift, complain little and behave,” she said sweetly.

 

“Estel, it is time we set out,” came Elladan, mounting his horse as Elrohir and Halbarad followed.

 

“Thank you, fair maiden, for taking such good care of me. I shall never forget it,” Halbarad said as he stared down upon Alfirinien with the respect. She bowed in response.

 

Aragorn was the last to mount his horse, dreading to part from his newly acquainted friend. “I shall see you, whether far or near I do not yet know, but my labors will bring me closer to becoming the one I am meant to be,” he said.

 

“I have one last parting gift for you, blessed one,” she said, pulling an envelope from under her coat.

 

Aragorn took it, the smell of honeysuckle enticing his senses. “Legolas?”

 

“A parting letter to keep you warm when the nights are cold. The scent shall never fade, no matter how long or how far you ride with it. Keep it well.”

 

Aragorn smiled, tucking the letter into his tunic. “I’ll keep it where I keep him, close to my heart. Farewell,” he said, glancing down one last time at the band around his ring finger before taking to the paths that would lead him south.

 

*******

And somewhere high where no mortal eyes could behold, watched a fair prince. With vision keen even to his own kind he watched the one he held most dear ride on for leagues with a hand placed over his heart, and like Elwing before him, Legolas knew that even in the darkness, Aragorn would find his way back to him as though a Silmaril were upon his brow like that of Eärendil. Until then, he had the aroma of leather and spiced cider to ease his heart and awaken blissful memories.  

 

    

 

 

  
  
  
  


   

 

   

 

 

  
  
  


 

 

 

          

  
  
  


      

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  


  

 

 

 

 

        

  
  


 

 

  

  
  
  


 

   

  
  


       

 

 


End file.
